


Godtouched: A Forgotten Realms Fandom Novel

by Johnny_Lawless_72



Series: Godtouched: A Forgotten Realms Fandom Novel [1]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Dungeons & Dragons - All Media Types, Dungeons & Dragons Online, Forgotten Realms
Genre: Blind Character, Dragons, Dungeons & Dragons 5th Edition, F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, Other, Song Dragon, Tiefling, blind monk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-26
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 19:33:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29705496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Johnny_Lawless_72/pseuds/Johnny_Lawless_72
Summary: What is it like to be touched by a god in the Forgotten Realms?  A blessing, curse, or something so alien it may change the fate of the cosmos.  A blind monk with a mysterious past must rely on a band of misfits to smuggle him out of Amn after using magic.  The party is chased by cowled wizards, a murderous priestess, and shadowy forces vying for power in Amn.  Will these deviants succeed or is Faerun doomed to repeat another cataclysm?  Even the gods can’t answer this question.
Series: Godtouched: A Forgotten Realms Fandom Novel [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2183070
Comments: 10
Kudos: 1





	1. Prologue

Tarsakh 29, Year of the Desperate Gambit (1499)

Malghor sat on his throne in Durlag’s tower and patiently waited for their attack. The would-be looters were exhausted from fighting monsters and magical defenses built into the tower three centuries ago. The mage’s elemental minions also sabotaged their progress as the adventurers fought through several levels of death and destruction.

Depleted of magic and strength, the intruders rested in the shadows of a small anti-chamber. Unable to scry the throne room, the nerve-wracked party planned their assault in near silence. With a quick backtrack to the stairs—the rogue found them gone—simply vanished. It was their only exit and now they were trapped. This job seemed less of a recovery operation and more of a suicide mission. He skulked back to his mates to tell them the fantastic news.

The mage waited hours for the party to rest. Time was not a concern for the guardian, his immortality would come soon enough. While waiting, he marveled at the fortifications built into the throne room by the Elemental Lords. He was not foolish enough to believe it was built to protect him personally, but rather to protect their richest artifact—the Jathiman Dagger. A weapon so powerful it could kill a god. In fact, it had killed several in its long-forgotten past.

His throne room had been selected because of its natural anti-magic field surrounding the dais. Just another remnant of the Spellplague’s devasting effect on the realm. Only Mystra herself could remove the field, of course, she would find the dagger firmly wedged between her shoulder blades should she try. The primordials were tired of the gods wreaking havoc on Toril. The magic witch and her fellow self-adulating gods had torn apart the realm during the time of Blue Fire; leaving the land in ruins for over a century afterwards. It was time for the lords to take back the realm and rid it permanently of the childish deities.

Each primordial molded a small piece of their plane into the throne room. Small denizens from each of the planes could be called at will by the guardian through an elemental vortex. Water from the plane of water surrounded the dais like a castle mote. Four tiny islands filled with lava from the plane of earth crested the small lake. Flames raged across the ceiling from the fire plane and tornado like winds howled through the chamber from the plane of air. An elemental from each of planes guarded the main entrance while four more stood on the corners of the dais protecting the guardian mage.

A halfling in all black leathers looked for traps and triggers as he slowly approached the oversized doors to the throne room. Today’s date did not escape his vast knowledge of history, an ill omen to be sure. Cloaked in darkness and surrounded with silence, he checked if the doors were locked with a whisper of a touch. Surprised to find it unlocked, his gut told him this was a bad idea. He looked back at his six companions poised for battle; three mages, a fighter, a barbarian and a cleric. He sent them a mental message. _The door is unlocked. Be ready for anything. One…this better work, two…this had better work, three…by the gods I hope this works…_ He whipped open the doors and dove for cover.

It was like a portal to all nine of the hells. Each combatant unleashed their most powerful spells, wands, chants, and ranged weapons into the chamber. The naturally lit great hall became a spectacle of light and sound as magic and might fought the deadly creatures. Fireballs, lightning bolts, frost rays, ice storms and countless other spells filled the air. The rogue was reminded of a Shieldmeet celebration but much, much deadlier. He hid in the shadows, waiting for any creature to breach their protective spells over the doorway. His shadowspells were of little use at this point in the fight. Survival was his highest priority.

Madness erupted from the open doorway. Wails and shrieks from countless beasts passed through the portal, but not the elementals themselves. Numerous creatures swarmed the entryway with their teeth gnashing, beaks snapping, and claws scraping the magical barrier. The shields blocked most of their attacks as the party continued their unyielding barrage. Carnage quickly piled up in front of the gigantic doors and threatening to obstruct their assault. Frenzied monsters tossed aside the carcasses of their brethren with the singular purpose of destroying their enemies. Elemental guards stationed at the door detected the barrier and waited for a breach before attacking.

A razor-sharp beak finally broke through their shield spells. A half orc barbarian would have perished if she were any closer to the door. The clever warrior shoved her arbalest lengthwise into the couatl’s mouth and hastily retreated to a defensive position. Several tritons also breached the doorway behind the serpent. A heartbeat later—an invisible web of thick, sticky strands covered the entryway. Several firebolts hit the flammable net and the wriggling creatures trapped within it started to burn. The barbarian roared as she chopped apart a couatl with her great axe. Haunting screams and the smell of burning flesh came from the tritons as they slowly died.

Before the remaining elementals could overwhelm the party, a fighter threw his shield at the doorway as he activated it. A solid wall formed instantly in front of the doors. It forced the attackers to pivot left or right after crossing the threshold —creating two kill zones that could be filled with ranged weapons and magical spells. A warrior stood ready at each end to kill anything that escaped the slaughter. Monsters died by the score in the efficient traps. As the wall started to fail, the party knew they were in trouble. They were running out of spells and ammunition. The shield-wall withstood a massive amount of damage from both friend and foe before it disappeared. The shield blinked out of existence and so too did the party’s hopes of survival.

The elemental door guards finally entered the room. They formed an inescapable line of death across the chamber. They slowly stalked their prey, knowing there was no escape. No malice, no revenge, no feelings at all. Just their unwavering loyalty to the elemental lords. They must destroy the threat at any cost.

Mages huddled in the corner where the stairs once stood. The fighters fought desperately to protect them. Magic missiles, throwing knives and crossbow bolts pummeled the elementals with no apparent effect. The dwarven cleric pleaded desperately with his god for more healing spells. Most of the party had grievous wounds. A half elf sorcerer cursed Mystra when their teleportation spell failed. She screamed that they needed more time to come up with another escape plan. Death stalked them in the form of four elementals. Only the shadow cloaked rogue seemed certain of his future.

Three warriors rushed the water elemental in a final act of desperation. A wall of water slammed against them as they charged. The barbarian and cleric lost their footing and nearly drowned. The dragonborn fighter dug his claws into the stone floor as he powered through the wave. His breath weapon burned the elemental as he tried to kill it with an overhead strike. The monster absorbed the blow from his longsword and threw the fighter across the room. Too stunned to react, an earth elemental rolled over him for the kill—crushing his head like a giant pustule. 

The air elemental attacked the two struggling warriors. It blasted them towards the ceiling with powerful winds. They slammed into the ceiling and gravity took hold. The elemental amplified their fall with more wind. Impact with the ground pulverized every bone in their body into a bloody pulp. Blood exploded from their bodies like a geyser. Nausea consumed even the most battle-hardened survivor.

The mages fates were sealed when the fire elemental pounced. Out of spells, they pathetically struggled to fend off the beast with daggers and staves. The monster easily overwhelmed them with fire attacks. Screams erupted from the damned as they were cooked alive.

The elementals turned in unison to hunt the rogue. He was disappointed that the party hadn’t killed the mage or recovered the dagger, but he had prepared for their loss as well as their win. No plan survives first contact with the enemy. His exit strategy revolved around the black raven tattoo under his thick curly hair. _Pain is weakness leaving the body. I will survive to fight again_. The queen required unbearable pain as payment for her gifts. With a murmur he activated his tattoo. He then drew an elaborate sigil of Levistus in the air. With his preparations complete—it was time to embrace the suck.

The rogue shadowcaster stepped out of his hiding spot towards his destiny. The elementals surrounded their target. A genuine smile crossed his face because he knew what would follow. The earth elemental smashed him to the floor. There was no attempt to block its crushing blow. A slab of black ice encased the rogue. Scorching flames quickly melted the slab. The center of the block was a hollowed out in the shape of the halfling. It was empty. Like a shadow, he simply vanished.


	2. The Flaming Dragon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A goliath and drow owned tavern on the outskirts of Amn’s civilization. A songstress with a checkered past. A not-dwarf bruiser and her islander goliath companion. All under the scrutiny of an eladrin mage-hunter employed by the Cowled Wizards and gods know who else… Oh and someone gets stabbed!

4 Eleasis, Year of the Desperate Gambit (1499 DR)

The Flaming Dragon was the third largest structure in Last Call, bowing only to a military barracks at the opposite end of town and the Zhayne estate across the street. The massive, two-story brick and wood tavern featured high-arched windows for a perfect balance of hospitality and utility. Sounds of debauchery erupted from the open portals as shadows flickered across the brightly lit hall. The enormous common room was filled with long tables, private nooks, a small stage, and the obligatory wooden bar running across the back wall. A large, ornate stairway led up to the guestrooms on the second floor while a walled courtyard and stables filled the premises. Servers with overloaded drink trays flittered throughout the alehouse. Tavern-dancers entertained the crowd while easily evading lecherous paws. With a wink and a smile, most of the staff doubled their wages in the guestrooms above by taming the wild dragon.

Madam Naudia surveyed the tavern chaos with utter delight. The jubilant herd of revelers consumed drink after drink as a heavy fog of pipeweed and hookah spice filled the air. Nervous chatter echoed throughout the room in anticipation of tonight’s sinful siren. Naudia calculated her potential profits from the eager patrons who rented private rooms after the bard’s sultry performance. Her minstrel created a yearning for companionship, which the matron happily obliged for a nominal fee. Because everything in this town had a price—everything.

Very few customers noticed Naudia perched atop the stairs leading to the guest rooms. She wasn’t hiding, but rather, folks rarely looked up! They were too busy drinking, fighting, scheming or flirting—usually all at the same time. The rare patron who looked her way was stunned to find a drow peering back from the shadows. Once they recovered from their initial shock, she usually captivated them with her enigmatic beauty and vivacious personality. Never one to shy away or hide from her heritage, she always used it well in negotiations.

As she people-watched, one of her employees snuggled up behind her with a big hug. The madam loved all her children equally, but Alistikana was by far her favorite. The dispater tiefling was a surprisingly good spy who always satisfied her customers. Her exotic allure kept her in constant demand among the more deviant patrons. The devil spawn ran her fingers through Naudia’s silky long hair and continued the stroke down her generous curves, resting them on the small of her back. Alista loved the contrast between the dark elf’s ebony skin and stark white hair. Naudia’s lithe figure and toned muscles came from decades, if not centuries, of adventuring. The half-drow’s fuchsia eyes and spellscarred tattoos highlighted her mysterious origins. 

Alista asked her in a suggestive voice, “Does the madam require any more of my services? You know I live to serve her every whim.” Her eyes enraptured the night elf and sent a jolt of excitement pulsing throughout her body. Naudia replied with a twinge of naughtiness, “No dear, you have already done so much for me today. Please rest so you have energy for our clients tonight. You know how excited they get after Djilia’s performance.” The madam gave her a passionate kiss and shooed her away so she could watch the hedonists in peace.

Naudia noted a pleasant mix of travelers and locals filling the fest hall. Last Call is a small, fortified town just south of the Cloud Peaks in Amn. Built after the Iron Crisis, miners haul ore and stone to the town’s port on the Dragon Blood River. A barracks compound the southwestern end of town houses several hundred militia that patrol the Trade Way and surrounding countryside. Last Call is a welcome stop for southbound caravans after a treacherous journey through the Peaks, while northbound caravans stop for information and last-minute supplies.

It pleased the mistress to see farmers working hard to spend their extra coin. Of course, she couldn’t discount the miners. They come down from the hills for some rest and relaxation in the form of firewater and cointurners. Happy with her observation, she looked down at her broad-shouldered beast of a husband behind the bar and gave him a wink.

Jack winked back as he continued to serve an army of thirsty customers. The overwhelmed goliath kept up his breakneck rhythm as his thick braids of colorful beads whipped about the bar in a frenzy. His powerful square jaw framed his unkempt salt and pepper beard and facial tattoos, epitomizing his northern wilderness background. Ducking low to grab small kegs while reached high to pull down mugs, he constantly toned his bulging muscles with both flair and finesse. He was surprisingly agile for a giant-kin of fifty summers. His enormous presence took up most of the bar and there wasn’t room for another barkeep. Others had tried to help, but several halflings were crushed in their efforts to assist him. Observing the small giant with flamboyant hair and bulging muscles, frolicing behind the bar, one could easily surmise why it was called The Flaming Dragon.

 _Buy a bar Naudia said, it will be so easy…we can finally retire from a difficult life of adventuring…_ He laughed to himself every time he thought about his ‘retirement’ and Naudia’s promises of a leisurely life. She was idle now, but later tonight she’ll be overwhelmed with customers seeking rooms and choosing just the right bedwarmer to make them happy. Never one to complain about working hard, the tavern kept him fit and their coffers overflowing with roldons and danters.

As Jack hustled around the bar, he noticed three militia trying to hide among the shadows of a corner booth. Of course, it made them even more obvious. He recognized two as local guards while the third was probably an officer from Athkatla. Normally, their pathetic attempts at surveillance would make him laugh, but corruption had increased significantly among the guard. They have become less predictable; taking bribes but selectively enforcing laws to help their competitors. He had to warn his associates. The guards could pose a real danger to his operation. Using his limited drow hand-sign language—he sent a warning to Naudia. Back to the never-ending quest of sating thirsty customers. Their siege on the bar was unrelenting but profitable.

Naudia responded in kind and examined the trio closely. The officer was some form of high-elf or eladrin. That was highly unusual and she needed to get the word out to her contacts. A high-ranking officer in this sleepy town gave cause for concern. Lives were at stake and not all officers could be bought with an honest bribe. She called Alista over and had her warn the others.

She hoped it was just another greedy guard looking to fleece a few caravans after the rainy season. Unfortunately, she didn’t have time to figure out his intentions because her star performer neared the stage. As the tavern’s glow-lights dimmed. The madam took a break from her intrigue to watch the show. Djilia’s performance was always spectacular, and tonight’s show should be no exception. She loved that girl almost as much as she loved Alista and Jack.

A hushed silence fell over the audience as the scantily clad seductress mounted the stage. Djilia’s smoldering eyes, thick black mane and smooth bronze skin seized their attention. Everyone in the hall stopped and stared at her stunning beauty. The fact that her translucent attire barely covered her voluptuous curves also helped keep their interests. A fine silver and blue hip scarf overlapped her indigo breechcloth and brassiere, both trimmed in ornate jewels and gold coins. Colorful feathers were woven into her waist-length black hair with blue and silver highlights to match her eyes. The silence lingered far too long until the songstress gasped, “Oh my, you all are too quiet. Is this a funeral—or a celebration?” Her voice rising, “I am Djilia and the four songsters behind me are the Glow Lads.” Looking back at the band she yelled, “Come on boys, let’s make some noise!” A chorus of cheers and jeers erupted from the crowd.

A thick fog slowly formed across the stage as the house lights darkened. The fog’s spicy mix of cinnamon and vanilla boosted the crowd’s excitement. A deep, solid bass note reverberated continuously from a foreign wind instrument. After a dozen heartbeats, an impossibly fast succession of lute notes added to the bassline to create a section of upper and lower phrases. The blinding pace of notes were unheard of—and something unimaginable—to the simple folk of Last Call. After several repetitions, Djilia and the band started to sing “na-na-nah-na, na-nah-na-nahhh-nah” during each section of the melody. The musicians hands and face had a blue glow in the dimmed lights. Their all-black clothing enhanced the effect. They appeared as floating heads and hands playing otherworldly music instead of the usual group of lively colored bards.

The primal music spawned a feeling of apprehension and excitement, like a jungle cat hiding in the darkness and waiting to pounce. As the music slowly increased in speed, so too did the revelers’ anxiety. With each repetition the houselights grew slightly brighter. The effect was subtle enough that only those who had seen her show before would notice the changes in lighting. Some celebrants released their tension by chanting along with the chorus. Others tapped plates or mugs on the table in sync with the music. The most boisterous of the group banged their fists or stomped their feet along with the beat. The band soaked up the crowd’s energy and threw it back at then through their music.

Just as the song pattern became familiar—it changed again. As the section finished, a bard pounded twice on a large barrel drum while Djilia screamed “Lightning!” Emphasizing her lyrics, the house lights dimmed and two halflings illuminated the stage with shuttered lanterns. The glow stones were as bright as the sun. The brilliant beams of light reflected off Djilia’s outfit into a constellation of twinkling counterpoints that filled the hall. By mid-song the room was filled with a melody of resonating chants, vigorous luting, complementary sitar chords, bass drums and rhythmic didgeridoos. Djilia’s non-sensical lyrics and booming vocals energized the merrymakers into a fervor. Her follow-on songs ranged from powerful folk ballads to risqué dances to full band ensembles that overwhelmed the partygoers. It was more of a religious revival than a music concert, and her performance would convert the masses by the end of night.

The three shadowy figures in a corner booth were the only ones not enjoying the show. Two of them wanted to join the drinking and dancing, but a certain officer from Athkatla had forbade any depravity during their surveillance. Jivvin Spellchaser, a mage hunter from the magic investigations division, took his job very seriously. Admittedly, tonight’s performance was amazing, even by Athkatla standards. But he wasn’t going to let down his guard down for some floozy dancing around in her unmentionables. He needed to finish his mission.

The high elf continued watching the crowd, unaware and uncaring that his fellow guards hated him. He tired of small-town politics and backwoods incompetency. It wasn’t only the towns’ politicians that were corrupt, but most of the guards were bribed by one guild or another. Even he was on someone’s payroll.

There had always been a degree of corruption within Amn, but the decline of the Council of Five threatened the stability of the entire country. Guards couldn’t trust fellow guards from their own city, let alone other another city. They often turned on each other in the name of coin or power. There were rumors of guilds paying guardsmen to wipe out rival guilds. Nobles had small towns and mines destroyed in the name of trade wars. The lesser classes turned to mystery cults and demon worshiping to survive the chaos Amn had become. 

_Focus on the task, the rest is red ink_ , he thought to himself _._ He assignment was to find the source of the magic smuggling operation near the border. The Grand Inquisitor personally requested him to scour the countryside looking for the ringleader. Crimmor had yielded a few arrests, but large number of unregistered magical items still flowed across the border. Dangerous items from Thay, Halruaa and Menzoberranzan were showing up everywhere. Mages working for the Emerald Enclave were also smuggled across the border to fight the Cowled Wizards, Amn’s only sanctioned mage guild that augmented the nation’s guard. 

The stench of sweat and road grim overwhelmed him. A bath was his primary focus after tonight’s surveillance. Jivvin had been working this case for months and needed to finish it, so he could return to civilization. His patron in Athkatla demanded that he resume his duties or there would be consequences. He shuddered to think of what they were. 

His foul mood matched his poor hygiene as he canvased the crowd for suspects. A lone monk sat at one of the tables near the front. The high elf was appalled by his physical features. Every inch of the monk was covered in tattoos and scars. Why would anyone do that to themselves? The dirty monk appeared to be blind as well. While monks didn’t normally engage in either magic or smuggling, this one was too unusual to ignore. Spellchaser continued to watch him because he knew this fool would do something stupid. It was just a question of what.

Kami’Kira was immersed in the music near the stage. Even though others were sitting around him, he was alone in his mind listening to Djilia sing. Others had not been born blind or had his gift of _mindsense_. Blindness didn’t prevent him from enjoying the light show and music—it enhanced the experience in ways others couldn’t even imagine.

There were many blind monks at the monastery, but somehow his mindsense was more intense than the others. The physical world was recreated in their mind to match their senses. Yet, his mind surpassed human senses in ways that were hard to describe. Objects in his mind were colorful auras of changing lights that were accompanied by magnificent scents, sounds, pressure, temperature, and many other sensations. These auras evoked powerful feelings and meaningful memories. While others merely translated sounds, smells and touch into their mind’s eye like a miniature play—he was surrounded by the entire experience and absorbed within its beauty.

Tonight’s music was no exception. Individual notes from each instrument had their own color, scent, emotion, texture and unique shape. He could taste the venison in the meaty bass undertones and smell the ginger from the lute’s light airy trills. Djilia’s songs produced glorious colors and vibrant structures that engulfed the room. The band’s performance became a colorful collage that changed moment by moment. Each note was covered in a metallic sheen with distinctive smells and shapes. Subdued songs formed smaller auras with muted colors and musty scents while upbeat songs filled his entire mind with colorful spectacles that overwhelmed everything else in his mind.

Listening to the show, he took a moment to reflect on how good his life was in Last Call. He helped Jack with meal preparations, restocking inventory, and the million other tasks required by a large tavern. After a long day in the kitchen, he took a break during the show. Kami loved being a cook at the Flaming Dragon. This monk of little wealth lived the richest life imaginable. It was very different from his childhood on the farm.

At the monastery there wasn’t time for music or entertainment. The orphans were slave laborers being groomed for future laborers and guard staff. For them, there was no other life than growing crops, performing domestic chores, studying martial arts, and practicing healing magic. Every moment of his day was filled with work. He wasn’t afraid of working hard, but he knew there was more to life than serving a cult of cloistered mages hiding under a rock.

His new life allowed him to explore his culinary passions, drink ale for free, and experience some of Amn’s greatest shows. He even got paid for his work! So immersed in his reflections, he didn’t notice the thief rifling through his pack sitting next to him. Even though the monk was oblivious, one of the bouncers noticed the rogue and moved in to intervene.

Findal was an eagle-eyed bruiser hired by Jack to deter theft from his customers. He always said the customer’s money should go to the bar, not the [Thieves](https://www.realmshelps.net/charbuild/classes/prestige/realms/shadowthief.shtml) Guild. Although he paid his bribes regularly, guild members would ply their trade on occasion in his tavern. So much for honor among thieves. Findal’s prior service as a city guard made her an excellent anti-rogue device. When she caught them, she would beat them senseless, take all of their valuables, and toss them into the street like garbage. The irony of robbing thieves was not lost to her. Most rogues stayed clear of the tavern because of her brutal reputation.

She had been watching the rogue like a prowling axe-beak. Baton in ready position, she silently stalked her prey. Her five years in the guard trained her to think strategically. She had already run through 10 different scenarios in her mind—from her strike to counterstrike to any unexpected anomalies. 

She closed in for the strike. Heart pounding, senses heightened. She approached from behind, lined up her strike to the thief’s cloaked head. Findal swung hard with a striking blow…into nothing. Where the thief once sat was an empty seat. Not even a sign that the rogue was ever there. She looked around in confusion as she waited for a hidden counterstrike that never came. In all her scenarios, the thief disappearing wasn’t one of them. She quickly scanned the room for signs of someone escaping, but nothing was amiss. No one running, ducking, or hiding. Only the swaying mass of party goers dancing to Djilia’s performance. 

Findal’s initial shock turned to anger. The bouncer raged as she walked back to her station by the front door. She wasn’t mad at the thief for escaping, she was upset with herself because she didn’t protect Kami. The monk had become a brother to her, and she would have beat the culprit senseless for stealing from him. He had few friends, probably because he looked like a monster. His entire right side of his body was horribly scarred, from head to toe. Both of his eyes were scarred shut. Any skin not scarred, was heavily tattooed in bizarre images. She had found the courage to ask what happened to him—he responded that he didn’t know. He had always been blind, scarred and tattooed in the orphanage.

The most tragic part of his life is that he had a heart of gold. Anyone that took the time to know him found him to be a wise, kind and deeply caring person. Generous to a fault, he would have given the thief whatever they needed. Even after her guard service, her moral compass still rang true. Stealing from a blind monk was just too much for her. She tried to calm herself with mental exercises. _Close your eyes…breath in…breath out...think calmness...bah, that was crap!_ She opened her eyes and tried to find a different way to vent.

While scanning the room for the sign of the thief—she noticed two men arguing. She stopped to evaluate the situation. One of them appeared to be a dockworker while the other was some sort of traveler. The dockworker stood up and headed towards Djilia. The dancer was fully engaged in a coin dance and probably didn’t need a drunk dockhand crashing her party. Findal was on the move to intercept him before he did something he would regret later.

Fetu was bored. She knew she needed to watch the tavern patrons for signs of trouble, but she just wasn’t feeling it tonight. Or most nights actually. Jack hired Findal for her vigilance and Fetu for her strength. Fetu was almost as tall as the northern barbarian with even wider shoulders, rich brown skin with tribal tattoos, and strait midnight black hair. They both had goliath ancestry, but she was from the Nelanther Isles. Her clan had lived in the isles for centuries, unlike the pirate scum that invaded her homeland. The two goliath clans may have once been the same people, but centuries apart made them two very different people. That may have been why she lacked Jack’s intensity or ability to focus on mundane chores. Like her current job of watching drunks getting into trouble.

The animal trophy case over the bar made for a tempting reprieve of her boredom. Then she remembered the last time she let one of the animal spirits back into its taxidermic body and the chaos that ensued. Jack was livid when a stuffed snow leopard jumped off the wall and started chasing customers around the fest hall. Even her spirit guide, Bandit, rebuked her for not thinking things through. Bandit did agree that it was one of the funniest pranks he had ever seen but using soul magic would get her killed in Amn. Maybe something else a little less dangerous would come to mind soon. Her boredom was excruciating.

Her boredom wouldn’t have been a problem if Djilia came to see her again. Yes, she was earning extra coin with her private dances, but the least she could have done was stopped by to say hello. She loved that girl so. The dancer smelled like spring flowers, looked like a goddess, and sounded like paradise calling. Not that she would ever say it in front of Findal. Especially with Findal’s jealous streak. But still, a girl could fantasize, couldn’t she?

Findal stepped into the drunk’s path and asked if everything was okay. Stan looked down at her then tried to maneuver around her. She continued to block his path every time he moved. He growled in frustration and said, “The dancer’s been lookin’ at me all night. She’s got some loving in ‘er eyes and it’s time for me to make my move.” Findal explained that he probably misjudged her intentions, and he should sit down before making a fool of himself. The dockworker retorts, “Mind your own business dwarf, I’m a knowin’ she wants me and you’re just jealous. Leave me alone rockroach before you get hurt!” 

Unfortunately for Stan, calling her a dwarf triggered a deep-seated resentment insider her. Both of her parents were human, but somehow she still looked like a dwarf. She was half as tall as the average human with wide shoulders, short limbs and a stout build. Her flaming red hair woven with tight beads and deep bronzed skin didn’t make her look any more human than dwarf. Suffering from a lifetime of being called a dwarf or some form of dwarven epitaph, the insult bypassed all her self-control. Zero to pissed in a heartbeat.

She vehemently refuted any dwarven heritage and told Stan to sit down before she knocked him down. The dockhand was too drunk or stubborn to comply. He suddenly remembered he had a dagger and started to brandish it. He was full of liquid courage as he sputtered, “Shut your rock chippin’ mouth, troll. Leave me be so as I can claim my prize.” Through gritted teeth, she repeated her command to sit down or he would see the seven stars of Mystra. He continued to menace her with the dagger while spewing stupidity.

Findal hadn’t noticed the traveler sneak up next to Stan until he reached out to calm the dockworker. The stranger grabbed his arm and asked him to stop before someone got hurt. The drunkard pulled his arm away and almost stabbed another patron. People moved back to safety, yet they continued to watch the drama unfold.

Findal knew the situation was nearly out of control. Using her military voice—she barked at Stan to stand down. The verbal assault only stunned him for a moment. As his senses returned, he felt a bitter rage towards her. Stan wasn’t going to let a female tyrant tell him what to do. The bruiser’s military instincts took over as she closed the gap between them. He made quick jabs at her face and arms while she parried with her off hand. She timed his jabs, waiting for the right time to for a baton strike. Lightning-fast, the baton struck the side of his head. It was a glancing blow over his ear and blood trickled down his head. The combatants separated and circled each other. Stan staggered from the alcohol and head trauma, but the pain sobered him quickly. Murder filled his eyes as he wiped the blood way from his face with his hand.

Knife arm extended—Stan lunged toward her in a fit of rage. He ran full speed towards her as she deftly side-stepped him. To her horror, he never stopped. He was supposed to turn around for a second attack. Instead, his rage and drunkenness continued his forward motion. She realized the gravity of her mistake as he barreled towards Djilia with the outstretched dagger. 

The dancer had just landed a high value client and was busy fleecing him for every coin he owned. She faced the wall while her hips gyrated in front of the wealthy merchant. Every so often she would look back into his eyes and whisper sweet lies as he doled out more coins. She hadn’t seen the fight and wasn’t aware of Stan’s current trajectory. The poor dockworker tried to stop his forward momentum, but it was too late. 

As he collided into her, his natural reaction was to catch her from falling. He forgot about the dagger in his hand. It easily slid between her ribs to pierce her lung. She shrieked from the pain and turned around to find its source. One moment she had been dancing. The next moment she found a smelly man clutched around her with her side on fire. Blood immediately gushed from her wound. Stan’s mortification from colliding into the nearly naked dancer hastened his effort to escape her grasp. Stan unconsciously pulled the dagger out of her side and started to apologize. The dancer looked from his dumbfounded, pleading face to the bloody dagger in disbelief. _That jackass just stabbed me_ she thought _._ She placed her hand over the wound to stop the bleeding. It became obvious that it wasn’t going to work. She looked around for help.

Everyone around her froze. They just stood there in shock. Everyone was waiting for someone else to act, but no one ever did. Some even held their breath in the hope that someone would save her. The dancer looked down to see her body covered in blood. A metallic tinge seeped into her mouth and the room started to spin. She heard something hit the floor, beyond comprehension that it was her. The music stopped and everyone gathered around in disbelief. Djilia’s world grew dim as her lifeforce quickly slipped away.

Kami rushed over to help the bard. His mind reverted back to his training in the healing arts as he examined her wounds with his hands. He was blind but he was not helpless. His experienced hands swiftly found the life-threatening wound. The monk applied pressure to the wound and used a small amount of his healing magic to connect with her soul. He needed to see how deep the wound went. Djilia was on the cusp of dying. The pressure slowed down the bleeding, but she didn’t have much time left before she died. 

Others called for a healer in the crowd, but no one stepped forward. How could anyone let such a beautiful voice die? Kami knew that his use of magic would get him arrested. He heard Jack rummaging through the bar looking for healing potions. Desperation seeped into Jack’s voice when he couldn’t find them. Someone moved them of stole them. Either way, it didn’t help the dying songstress. Kami felt her heartbeat quickly fading. Every moment delayed was a moment closer to her death. 

His mind was a mess. Confusing thoughts gained hold of his focus. Why is magic outlawed in Amn? Why do I think of consequences when she was dying in my arms? How can I care more for this songbird’s life than my own—I barely even know her. What would the Seven Sages say about this dilemma? Why do the women I care about always have to die?

He shook the maddening thoughts from his head and focused on saving her. He knew the dangers, but he had to heal her with magic. He cried out unexpectedly, more to himself than anyone else, “Don’t worry my little warbler, I will save you.” He added to himself _Damn the consequences!_ Kami felt magic flow from deep inside his body. Healing warmth radiated from his hands around her body. His body pulsed with golden waves of soothing relief that washed over Djilia. Her soul slowly returned as her body mended. The wound closed and her heart began to pound fiercely. A wave of euphoria flowed through their bodies as the healing process joined their souls. Restoration of life was the second deepest bond between two people, only the creation of life could be more intimate.

Oddly, with their spirits joined he felt the huge presence of her soul. It was almost like her body was human, but her spirit was something infinitely larger. He performed the healing ritual thousands of times and never felt such a large soul. His mind was distracted by the healing procedure and he didn’t have time to delve into this insight. The anomaly sat in the back of his mind for later contemplation. Too much chaos surrounding him. 

As her lifeforce returned, her body started to twitch. Joy overwhelmed him because he knew he had saved the songbird. Her eyes fluttered open and she looked at the ceiling. Very slowly she turned her head towards him, trying to understand what had just happened. She licked her dry lips and tried to talk. Inaudible noises came forth. Her voice was less than a whisper, so he leaned closer. She whispered delicately in his ear, “By the Gods you are a fool! I can’t believe you used magic on me. We are all going to die!” Then she passed out for the second time tonight. Kami falls to the floor, lost in confusion and despair.


	3. The Bossman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Incubus and succubus oh my. Adultery is not your friend. The noble betrayal… Oh and someone else gets stabbed!

4 Eleasis, Year of the Desperate Gambit (1499 DR)

“Of course I use magic in Amn…” the brash young gentleman pronounced much too loudly for the Athkatlan nobles in attendance. His words generated nervous glances among the four fawning women who surrounded him. There were more anxious expressions among the voyeurs just outside their circle. “…the magic of love that is!” Sirahj finished his dangling thought with a dashing smile. The women tittered, with his latest prey laughing the loudest. Giselle responded in a playful tone, “You are such a rascal! But you must be careful what you say, or I fear you will get us all hanged for wickedness.” The young lord countered, “But dying for love is of the noblest of causes, wouldn’t you agree?” She unconsciously moved closer to him as she nodded affirmation with enthusiasm.

Lady Giselle Gheldieg of House Zhayne was fair in face and rich in resources. Her husband’s family operated the Amn gem syndicate while her family was one of the leading powerbrokers for marriages and death. Neither family ranked high enough for a seat on the Council of Five, but their houses were substantially wealthy and warranted respect. Sirahj had been wooing the heiress all night. It seemed his charming personality and cunning patience finally paid off.

Sirahj stood out like a peacock among pheasants at the regalia. He openly rebelled social norms with his canary yellow open-collared puffy silk shirt. It sharply contrasted the Athkatlan fashion of restrictive button up collars encrusted with precious metals and gems. A flamboyant blood red doublet and dark blue harem pants countered the dark and gloomy dress code of Amn nobility. His oversized flaming red codpiece and knee length boots fashioned from bearded devils made fantastic conversation starters. Every woman in the room wanted to know if his codpiece was necessary or just an extension of his ego. Jealous suiters insinuated that he looked more like a pirate than a highborn. The jewel baroness was impressed by the sheer volume of jewels embedded throughout his finery.

Giselle deftly reached out to appraise the exotic fur collar lining his blue cape. She brushed his cheek while reaching for it. He noted her pupils dilate along with a sudden racing of her heart. He explained the fur was yeti, just one of the many foreign beasts in his wardrobe. Her cheeks flushed, not from the unusual fur, but from a passion deep inside her. The lady absently brushed back her hair as he retold his sordid tale of the yeti’s acquisition. All four women were enthralled with his story telling, complete with wild gestures and outlandish claims of heroism on his part. Nobles were so gullible; it was like hunting hens in a cage.

Sometime later Giselle asked the young lord if he would like to see her private collection of jewelry. The other women suddenly found something interesting across the room and gave their leave. Giselle was ten years his senior and loved to dabble in youthful recreation. He hesitated a moment to contemplate his options then decided to engage in her naughtiness. Sirahj looked across the room to his twin sister, Samara, who was like wise surrounded with admirers. He gave her a knowing look which that told her that he would be back soon. She rolled her eyes and grinned as he was whisked away by his new playtoy.

The sentries guarding the servant’s quarters stepped aside when they saw the couple approach. The guards said nothing, but their impassive attitude told Sirahj this was a common occurrence. Giselle led him down a stairwell into an intimate passageway lined with a score of doors. She selected one halfway down the hallway and they quickly entered. Giselle told him the small bedroom used to belong to her nanny until the girl was caught tending her husband’s needs instead of their children. She gave some details about Rohaan’s various escapades and said with an devilish grin that this room would perfect for them. Sirahj gave her a concerned looked and said he didn’t know she had a family. He asked if she was sure about their present course. She assured him they were safe. He tried to hide his knowing smile as he feigned a hug of reassurance. 

Almost on que—the tigress pounced. He barely had time to rest his cape on a nearby chair before she grabbed his arm and pulled him onto the bed. Her spicy perfume mixed with her mischievous pheromones stimulated his primal senses. But he stopped her advances and gave her a confused look as he surveyed the room. “I thought you brought me here for your gemstone collection. Yet, there is only a bed. I have never seen a vault such as this before, are you sure we’re in the right room?” She burst into laughter and told him that he was the silliest man she had ever met. He gave her wry grin and pulled her into his passionate embrace. They were fully immersed in lapidary techniques and discussions of gemstone quality when they heard loud voices from the hallway approaching their room. Giselle told Sirahj to stop as her ears perked up. She whispered that the voice outside sounded like her husband. This was going to turn out badly.

The door swung wide as the couple sashayed into the room hand in hand. Sirahj sat up as he shoved Giselle under the heavy covers. He sat motionless in the bed with a surprised look on his face. It quickly changed to a look of panic as he realized Giselle’s husband was accompanied by his sister! Rohaan was too busy flirting to notice anything amiss. Samara’s body stiffened in horror and the old lord looked towards the bed to find the source of her displeasure. The sight of a half-naked man sitting in his servant’s bed confused him, then enraged him.

The older noble deftly drew his short sword and bellowed, “who in the Nine Hells are you? Why are you naked in my servant’s chamber?” Sirahj suppressed a grin at the irony of his statement. He skillfully responded, “You must be Lord Rohaan of House Zhayne. It is an honor to meet the host of such a regal event. Forgive me if I don’t get up, it seems you have caught me in a rather awkward position.”

He carefully slid out of bed, trying not to pull the covers off Giselle. He offered a salute and said, “I am Sirahj Alshaytan at your service. Unfortunately, I am not yet of a noble Amnian house. But it seems my dear sister Samara is working diligently to remedy the situation.” Samara looked down in feigned shame. “We have traveled to the city of coin to seek our fortunes. I hope we have not offended you in our noble pursuits. So far, the Athkatlan nobility has been most…hospitable.”

Rohaan was not placated by Sirahj’s silky words. Instead, they further infuriated him. Still holding his sword, he spotted the lump underneath the bedcovers. He demanded to know who was hiding under the covers. The brazen gentleman lied and said it was just a serving girl who also wanted to join the elite, even if it was only for a night. She was nothing. In fact, he should dismiss her from his mind. Samara gently tugged on Rohaan’s free arm, pleading for him to remain calm. She whispered in his ear that they could easily find another room and get back to their intended business. She couldn’t dismiss the arousing smell of sweat and hatred wafting from his skin. It was so delicious she nibbled his ear in eagerness.

The livid nobleman was too angry to accept her offer. He flailed his sword about while demanding to know the serving girl’s name. Sirahj glibly responded that he already forgot it, but she shouldn’t be punished for her transgressions. Rohaan exclaimed, “I am her master, I will decide her fate! She should have thought of the consequences before jumping in bed with a counterfeit nobleman. Lass I will know your identity!” He ripped off the bedclothes to reveal his wife.

He staggered from his wife’s betrayal like being physically hit with a club. It was beyond comprehension that any woman from his high-ranking house would be caught with a cocksure peasant. He tried to catch his balance as his mind reeled from the scandalous exposé. Sirahj raised his hands in surrender and said he didn’t want any trouble. He and Samara could leave without a scene. Rohaan’s rational mind shut down and he only saw was red. He was going her, his cheating wife. His jabs increased in frequency while he screamed profanities at them.

Giselle had enough of his outburst and jumped out of bed. She stood in defiance of his cheating ways and in defense of her lover. She was incensed by her husband’s hypocrisy and countered, “Did you forget where you are standing? This is the room where you diddled my nursemaid. Don’t think for a moment that I believed she was the only one. How many little bastard Zhaynes roam the countryside?” Before Rohaan could respond, she pointed accusingly at Samara, “Case in point!” Samara shrugged and tried to look innocent.

Impulsively, Giselle grabbed Sirahj around the waist and pulled him close. “Think of Sirahj as the first of many new notches in my bedpost. I am tired of being neglected by you as you pollenate the young flowers around our manse. Maybe someday you will…” Before she can finish, Rohaan screams “Shut up, shut up, just shut up!” He sliced open her throat with a single short stroke. She tried to scream but only a high pitched wheeze escaped her throat. Blood erupted from her wound until she lost consciousness. She dropped to the floor like a sack of flour. Her body twitched like a fish gasping for oxygen while blood continued to flow from her neck. A dark red pool of blood surrounded her corpse. Rohaan nearly fainted from the severity of the circumstances. He just killed his wife. He dropped his sword. Speechless, he looked at Sirahj and Samara for answers.

The sibling’s demeanor immediately changed. Sirahj slowly shook his head while making a tsking sound. “My friend, it seems you have made a terrible decision tonight. One that will cost you dearly.” Rohaan responds that the city guards will take a high lord’s word and money over a commoner. He started to fabricate a story where two peasants break into his mansion to hold his wife hostage. Sirahj holds up his hand to stop him. “Yes, I agree that the law would surely side with a respectable noble over us rabble. That is if it were only your word against ours.”

With a patronizing grin Sirahj grabbed his cape off the chair. “Please goodsir, let me show you a fantastic gem that was enchanted for us. Your family deals in gems, no? I believe it may help us come to an agreement faster than us quibbling over what transpired tonight.” He clasped the cloak around his neck, activating a large gemstone. The gem created an illusion of everything that transpired that evening. Giselle’s death. Her husband killing her. Both of their indiscretions. Every sight and sound was projected from the gem. “I could replay it again… in case you missed anything.” Silence fell across the room like a coffin closing.

Rohaan finally understood the elaborate trap he has stumbled upon. He made a desperate charge at Sirahj. If he could only grab the scoundrel around the neck and choke him. Sirahj laughs as he teleported to his sister’s side. The charge ended with the nobleman crashing into the wall. Clearly stunned, he turned around to find the siblings eyeing him with disdain. Samara quiped, “Obviously, you don’t know who you are dealing with, so let us show you.” To his horror, the two villains polymorph into a male incubus and female succubus. The succubi cruelly mock his shocked response.

The nobleman tried to yell for the guards and Samara appeared next to him. She pushed her razor-sharp claws into his throat. “Shut up stupid human before I rip out your throat. I am tired of your arrogance, prancing around like a prize stallion. It is time for you to obey your masters or die like your pathetic wife.” She started to cast a charm spell on him. He knew she was casting a spell and scoffed at her, “Your spell will have no effect on. I am not stupid enough to leave myself vulnerable to some petty witch. My rings will reflect your spell and make you mine!” He waved his hand in front of her face in triumph. A gasped escaped his lips when he noticed all of his rings are gone. It became clear that he underestimated the duo. His life was in real danger. It was time for negotiations.

Sirahj tells him it will be 5,000 platinum for them to leave quietly. Rohaan scoffs, “what? Why don’t you just ask for 50,000 roldons or half a million gold pieces to build a large castle while you’re at it?” Sirahj responds coolly, “Okay. 50,000 roldons it is. You are too generous my friend.” The color returned to his face and even reddened as he tried to explain that was not how negotiations work. The young man countered, “you offered 50,000 and we accepted. Your kindness is overwhelming. As a part of the bargain, we will even clean up this… little mess for yours.” All three of them looked down at the dead body surrounded by sticky black ichor and body excrement. Rohaan gasps, “What? 50,000 roldons will ruin me! I will pay 1,000 roldons and not a copper more.” He was notably unphased by seeing his wife’s lifeless body sprawled across the floor.

Samara whispers in his ear, “I am sorry my love, you offered 50,000 and now that is the price of your freedom.” An evil smile crossed her face, “Or… we could take our gem to the Grand Inquisitor and you can take your chances with Amnian justice.” Rohaan blanched. The inquisitor had a personal vendetta against him. Rohaan publicly humiliated him several times in high profile corruption cases against the gem cartel. It was no secret that house Zhayne had even tried to assassinate him after his last interference with the cartel.

“You two are such good friends. I am sure he would let you go with a small bribe and a pat on the back.” The older statesman knew he had been backed into a corner with no escape. Even if he could bribe to the inquisitor - it would be a thousand times the normal bribe for getting away with murder. And Amnian justice? That was a farce. The rumors would prove him guilty even before the trial began. He would be publicly crucified with or without a final verdict. Scandal would ruin his family’s reputation and his rivals would bury them. No, trusting Amnian law wasn’t an option.

The she-devil added sweetly, “As we have agreed, we will clean up your mess. But you will owe us a favor in addition to the coins.” The weary lord’s shoulders drooped as he agreed. She patted him on the head and told him that it wouldn’t be too difficult for a man of his reputation or require him to kill… again. Rohaan reluctantly offered his hand to finalize their agreement, knowing he would never honor it. The seductress insisted on an official contract. “In case you decide to double-cross us, we get your soul. It’s surprising how much coin souls go for in the abyss.” Rohaan blanched for the second time that night. He hadn’t thought about his soul. She continued with a wicked grin on her face, “I hope you understand. It’s hard for us to trust the word of a liar and a murderer without a contract.” He signed the contract in blood without reading it. The devils could only smile as they knew their fortune and influence in Athkatla was on the rise. 

After Rohaan left defeated, Samara grumbled that nobles were such fools. She pulled out a diamond-tipped wand from a tiny pocket in her dress. Pointing it at the bloody mess; the magic disintegrated the remains of the unfortunate pawn. It also hid their tracks by removing any chance of resurrection. The succubi transformed back into their party attire and returned to the ballroom.

Sirahj found the three groupies gossiping about trivialities. They inquired about Giselle and he joked that he left her in the bedroom completely consumed. He couldn’t hold back a smirk from his double entendre. The half-witted women mistook his grin as a sign of prowess. They were even more intrigued with the new socialite. Kowtowing to his humor they circled like vultures until Samara returned to his side. The obligatory scowls ensued.

She announced that she was not feeling well and requested they leave soon. The three women changed tactics and offered to accompany his ailing sister back to his mansion. “Just in case your dear sister would need a woman’s help.” He chuckled at their blatant advances but agreed they should accompany the siblings home. The devils smiled in anticipation as they made their way to the gilded carriage. A night of wickedness and alibies to celebrate their newfound wealth.


	4. Kami Disappears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Which way did the monk go George, which way did he go? …Oh and someone else gets stabbed again! Let the bodies hit the floor.

Naudia couldn’t believe her eyes. Did that really happen? Some moron just stabbed Djilia! The madam raced down the stairs and was by her side in an instant. She took charge of the chaos and ordered Findal to clear the tavern. The bruiser bellowed, “Party’s over, no encore, no refunds” as she steered them towards the front door like cattle. She continued, “Tavern’s closed, you don't have to go home, but you can't stay here!” The drow asked Kami to carry the songstress upstairs to rest. The dancer looked like death warmed over, literally. 

Naudia was heading upstairs to prepare a room for the dancer when she noticed Fetu idly standing around, as usual. Pointing at the giant, she ordered, “Guard the stairs. No one goes upstairs without permission. No one!” Fetu knew she was serious; it would take a mountain to move her from the stairs. Crossing her arms, she filled the entire stairway. This was one task she could easily accomplish.

Spellchaser and the guards were on their feet in an instant. He ordered the two militia to arrest the dockworker while he looked for the monk-mage. As he approached the stairs, there was a huge barbarian standing in his way. As tall as the bartender, she was just as ugly. She must have gone shopping with the dancer because she lacked decent clothes as well. 

Unintimidated by her size, he tried to bull through her at full speed. He expected her to move aside before making contact. He was wrong. She didn’t budge. Bouncing off her, he almost lost his footing. She just looked down at him with a wry smirk. There was a twinkle in her eyes as her dark red irises danced with fire. Who did she think she was to impede him? He was on official business. This stupid giant will certainly pay for her mistake. Pulling his guard medallion from his pocket, he bellowed, “Move aside now or you will be arrested!”

Fetu stood a head and a half taller than the mage hunter and at least twice as wide. Under strict orders to not let anyone pass; that was exactly what she would do. Bandit, her spirit guide, didn’t like the haughty elf either. She turned her head to talk to the spirit. “Oh look Bandit. He’s waving his little piece of metal around telling everyone how important he is. How cute.” The elf—enraged by her lack of respect and equally confused as to who she is talking to—harshly responded. “What? Who are you talking to? Wait. It doesn’t matter. If you don’t move right now I will have you jailed and tortured. Move beast!”

“Yes Bandit, the puny man with golden skin and dagger ears is threatening me. I agree, he is funny looking. You think we should keep him?” She waited for bandit’s response. “I agree. Maybe we’ll crush him into little elf parts and stuff him in our pocket as a pet.” Jivvin stepped back and started to cast a spell. Jack’s voice boomed throughout the tavern “No spellcasting!” The elf’s concentration crumbled in mid cast and the spell faded. He gave Jack a look of death. 

The bartender pointed to a warding glyph in the wall, above the elf’s head. Skull and crossbones surrounded the glyph. Jack continued nonchalantly, “I just saved your life, elf. There are signs everywhere that warn people about spellcasting, but I guess mages can’t read so good. You can thank me later. Until then, why don’t you tell me why you are in such a hurry to go upstairs, my friend?” 

Spellchaser responded, “It’s none of your business. You both are impeding official guard business. Let me pass or suffer the consequences.” Jack’s harsh face broke into a wide grin. “Considering that I am the only judge in town, I’ll take my chances. So again I ask…maybe slower so you can understand the words coming out of my mouth…who are you and why are you going upstairs?” “I am Mastermage Spellchaser with magic investigations. I am trying to catch the rogue mage. Now move this brute out of my way!” The elf’s hand hovered near his sword hilt. Fetu didn’t move but her eyes dared him to try drawing his sword. 

With a hint of deadliness, Jack calmly stated, “You pull steel on her and she will kill you. If she doesn’t, I will.” He willed himself to calm down, then gave Fetu a giant smile. “If you’re done playing with your new toy, you can let him pass. He seems harmless enough.” She gave him a questioning look and he nodded yes. She moved aside. The mage hunter glared at Jack and gave the command, “You and your staff will remain here for questioning. Do not let anyone leave without my permission.” He bolted up the stairs two at a time. Jack visibly relaxed and thought to himself, _hopefully that’s enough time for a head start my friend_.

Kami rushed Djilia upstairs and Naudia guided him into a private room. He gently laid her on the bed and continued to hold her hand. The dancer’s eyes flew open. Her normally husky voice was meek, but no less stinging. She started her second barrage, “Darling, I appreciate you saving my life…but I am afraid you may have killed us all in your haste.” She took a couple of calming breaths. Less harshly, she continued, “My dear hero…a mistake can’t be undone. We must focus on your escape, or you will hang in the town square by dawn. I am sure my dear friend Naudia has a plan. I will shut up so you can hide. I owe you my life, thank you.” 

Naudia quietly opened the door to find Alista waiting in the hallway. She whispered to the tiefling, “Please take our dear friend away. Anywhere but here. Then kindly make yourself scarce. The guards should be here any moment. Thank you my dear, now get lost.” The devil spawn gently took Kami’s hand and led him down the hallway. He looked overwhelmed as he was hurried into the unknown.

Several paces down the hallway they entered another room full of bathtubs. A closet with a secret staircase was hidden behind one of the tubs. She whispered in his ear, “The stairwell is protected from scrying and will keep you hidden until they leave. Go quietly to the bottom and wait. It may take a while to get rid of the guards. Please don’t make any noise or you will be discovered.” On Impulse she added, “I loved your delicious cooking and I’ll miss your company. Good luck on your journey and stay safe my dear.” He never expected her enthusiastic embrace or her passionate kiss. She steered him down the stairs and smacked him on the butt to say goodbye. Too dazed to respond, he silently descended the stairs. This was definitely one of the most bizarre days of his life.

Naudia looked into Djilia’s eyes as they rested on the bed. The drow brushed her hair back with a soft hand. “I thought we were going to lose you for a moment. That stupid monk has a noble heart. We will talk about him later, but for now you must rest. We can’t afford for you to be questioned.” The madam drew a sign over the singer’s forehead, and sleep overtook her. Naudia hummed softly while stroking her hair. She patiently waited for the town idiots to arrive.

Spellchaser burst through the door with a guard trailing behind. Seeing the drow crouched over a woman covered in blood—a wave of disgust involuntarily coursed through his body. The drow and high elves were ancient enemies and memories of hatred still lingered. Trying to ignore his raw feelings with intellect, he concentrated on hunting the monk. His body failed to mask his true feelings.

The madam noticed his response but said nothing. She continued to hum and stoke the bard’s hair. It took him a few seconds to compose himself. Although Djilia was sleeping, he loudly asked, “Who are you? What are you doing in here with my witness?” She stopped humming and gave him a deadly stare. Her voice above a whisper, “This poor girl nearly died tonight. She is resting. Let’s give her some peace and quiet while we talk elsewhere.” She made it clear that it wasn’t a request. As she silently exited the room the two intruders shuffled behind her.

They walked down the hallway to Naudia’s perch. She sat down and waved her hand for them to sit as well. The guard sat down and immediately realized his mistake when the high elf refused to sit. Standing up swiftly, he tried to hide his embarrassment. Without pleasantries or even a simple greeting, the mage hunter launched into his questions. She gave him a disapproving look and again said nothing. He stopped talking when he recognized his blunder. Sitting with stately poise and wearing an indifferent smile, she waited patiently for him to introduce himself. There was a long and uncomfortable pause between them.

Failing to introduce himself, she took the control of the conversation. “Greetings goodsir. I realize the wonderful people of Athkatla are constantly rushing from one deal to another and sometimes sacrifice manners in the name of efficiency… But the people of Last Call have the time and luxury for such niceties. I am Naudia Bedlam, part owner of The Flaming Dragon along with my husband, Jack. If I may be so bold as to ask—what violation of the law would warrant your breaking into a sleeping woman’s room, particularly one so close to death?”

Spellchaser was irritated by this woman already. Not only did she waste his time, but she was trying to undermine his authority. These hay-noses had no idea who they were dealing with. He stared down at her from his superior position. With insolence he replied, “I am Jivvin Spellchaser, Mastermage from magical investigations. You will answer my questions or pay the price for disobedience.”

Before he could continue his tirade, she interrupted, “Well Mastermage Spellchaser, you have no reason to threaten me. Contrary to your limited knowledge of the areas surrounding Athkatla, we are a civilized and lawful frontier town. As such, I am trying to converse with you in a manner that befits your rank. Your posturing like a cock-sure rooster and menacing my staff surely hampers any attempt to acquire the information you need for your investigation.” She returned his glare, knowing that she was getting under his skin.

He inhaled deeply to continue his rant. She silenced him with an upraised hand. “Before you continue your tirade, I must point out your impropriety. You severely overestimate your power to threaten me. The illustrious Don Benjumea, you may know him as the Grand Inquisitor, is a dear friend of mine. In fact, he had a lovely visit with us about a year ago in this very tavern. I can’t get into the details, but rest assured that he remembers it fondly. There are several officers you two and I doubt he would take kindly to your threats.” Looking directly into his eyes, she continued, “I also presume you didn’t notice the Zhayne estates across the street. They too are fond of our tavern and we are under their direct protection. Now that you have a good idea of who you are talking to…please continue with your questions kind sir.”

Spellchaser was livid. Yet, he kept his temper in check. After all, she was well connected and protected. His demeanor changed as he pressed forward with his investigation. She told him that Djilia will live, but she needed rest. Yes, the dancer would be available for questions in the morning. Yes, she knew the monk well—he worked for them for the last two years. No, she hadn’t ever seen him use magic, but she thanked the gods he saved Djilia’s life. No, she didn’t know where he was, but he should be easy to find. Yes, she knew where he lived and would give him directions to the boarding house. No, she didn’t know the dockworker, but he was lucky that he didn’t kill her star performer. Yes, he was welcome to question her staff about tonight’s disturbing events. 

After an exhaustive set of questions, she closed the conversation on a positive note. “Well Master Spellchaser, I hope our conversation proves that we are not the barbaric people you imaged. I appreciate the sacrifices you have made for the good of Amn and offer you our full hospitality. You may choose any of my staff that pleases you—compliments of the house. Please enjoy one of our finest rooms, along with any other indulgences you desire.” Jivvin refused the drow’s bribe. He told the guard to check the other rooms for the monk. Check everywhere, they needed to find him. The mage hunter’s instincts told him the monk was hidden somewhere close. He stomped back down the stairs to question the staff. She had wasted enough of his time with her absurdity and lies.

Fetu and Findal joined Jack at the bar as they waited for Spellchaser to return. When Jack saw the elf coming down the stairs, he looked for Naudia at her perch. She hand-signaled, _delayed him…monk should be gone_. He waived Spellchaser over to the bar with a friendly gesture. A look of disdain crossed Jivvin’s face, but he still approached. He greeted the elf in a jovial tone. “Well met my friend. I don’t believe that I have had a chance to formally introduced myself…” The mage hunter cut him off with anger, “Shut up troll-kin, I know who you are, and I don’t care. Tell me where the monk is.” As he waited for an answer, he took a simple rock from his pocket and placed it on the bar. In his resentment towards the madam, he had forgotten to retrieve the item for her interrogation.

Findal recognized the rock and gasped. With dismay she asked, “Is that a truth stone?” Jivvin nodded yes with an evil grin. Infuriated, she continued, “How dare you use magical devices on the citizens of Amn. You know it is forbidden to use such items unless it’s an emergency.” With a scornful reply, he said, “You must not have recognize my medallion. Take a closer look.” As he showed it to her, she turned ashen white. Magic investigations doled out torture and abuse like candy during her time with the guard. Jack noticed her response and intervened.

The barkeep kindly asked, “What can we do to help with your investigation?” Jivvin responded with annoyance, “I have told you what I want. Where is the monk?” “I honestly don’t know, my friend. But he should be easy to find. He’s usually here, growing his garden, or in his room.” As Jack spoke, Spellchaser looked at the rock. It’s green glow told him the answers were truthful.

“Have you ever seen the monk use magic?” “No. Everyone in Amn knows it’s illegal. If I knew he was a magic user, I would have taken care of it.” The rock continued its glow green, but the high elf points at him accusingly, “You’re lying!” “What? Your rock says I am telling the truth!” “Sometimes it’s not what you say, but what you don’t say that tells me you are lying.” 

Scowling, Jack responds, “What are you talking about?” “You may not know where he is right now, but you know where he is going.” “He doesn’t have anywhere to go. Last Call is his home. I doubt a blind man alone in the woods would last very long. He would be a tasty dinner for some orc, dragon or a hundred other monsters. Besides, all his friends are right here. So no, I don’t know where he is or where he would go. Do you have any other questions? It’s late and I am running out of patience.” Spellchaser shook his head in disgust. After questioning Findal and Fetu, the mage hunter knew he wasn’t going to get the answers he needed. Changing tactics, he questioned the dockworker.

Waving a hand in front of Stan’s face, the laborer seemed to sober up. He asked him what happened. More irritated with himself than the elf, he said, “I don’t know what happened tonight. Everything’s fuzzy. It’s like I was standin’ outside m’self. The feller sittin’ next ta me bought me an ale. He said he collected knives and showed me one. It was purdy. He asked if I wanted it and I said yeah. He gave it to me just like that.” Spellchaser asked him where the knife was. Stan scratches his head and shrugs. “Don’t know. Musta lost it after the fight.” 

Jivvin looked upset but asked him to continue. “I dunno what else to say. He kept tellin’ me that the dancer wanted me. I didn’t believe him at first but it mighta been true. Anyway, I didn’t mean to stab her. She’s so pretty mister, I need ya to believe me. I didn’t wanna hurt her. Honest.” Stan looked down in shame and regret. He suddenly looked up at Findal, “If it weren’t for that stupid dwarf over yonder I’da been in her bed right now insteada talkin’ to you!”

Spellchaser tells him to calm down. “Could you tell me what the traveler looked like?” “Um. I dunno. He was kinda short…I jus’ can’t tell ya. It seems that I can’t remem’r his face. What in the nine hells did ya do to me?” Jivvin told him to calm down again or he would go to jail. “Been there before. But it don’t mean I wanna go again. Am I done yet? Can I go now?” Jivvin tells him he is free to go for tonight. “Stay in Last Call for the next few days until my investigation is over.” Stan grumbles and leaves. On his way out he gave Findal a rude gesture.

The elf asked Jack if he had any of Kami’s personal items. Jack thinks about it for a second and says no. He asks for coins that Kami must have paid his bar tab with. The bartender responds that the employees drink for free. The elf shakes his head in frustration. He asks if Jack and Naudia are going to be around tomorrow for more questions. Jack responds, “Yes, why wouldn’t we? This is our house and our livelihood. If you’re asking us if we are going to skip town, the answer is no! If you’re done, can you please leave?” “I have some reports to write, but rest assured I’ll be back tomorrow.” Jack stared at him coldly. Spellchaser told the two militia to go outside. Everyone breathed easier after he left. Too bad he was from Athkatla, or they could have arranged his demise.

The mage hunter left the tavern fuming. Never had he been treated with such insolence. In the capital city Jack would have been in irons. He glared at the two militia and asked them if they had any idea where to find Kami. They both looked surprised at the question and gave him a blank look. Idiots surrounded him. 

He told them to search the boarding house, even though they knew it would be pointless. The officer wanted them to secure the monk’s room—no one was allowed entry until they could thoroughly search it in the morning. They started to protest, he told them to stop whining. Afterall, he still had reports to write tonight. They were to report to his office at dawn for a fresh start on the hunt.

The two militia half-heartedly searched the boarding house. The monk lived sparsely and they were soon finished. They headed home after securing the room. Extreme fatigue set in as they walked back to the barracks. It was bad enough to sit all night with the egoistic bastard who continuously spewed hatred, but to sit in a tavern and not drink was plain torture. They saluted their fellow guards making their rounds as they passed by. The night watch returned their salutes and razzed them about infiltrating gangs of bar hussies and drinking all their beer. The seasoned guards replied with unprofessional hand gestures and continued towards the barracks for much needed rest. 

Rounding a street corner, they noticed a small creature sobbing next to a rain barrel. From the shadows It looked like a little girl crying. They hurried towards the victim to see if she was hurt. The older guard wondered where her parents were. In a gentle voice he said, “Miss, it’s not safe to be out this late. Especially without your parents. We’re here to help. Are you okay?” The victim’s response was barely audible, “The queen needs our help, we must save her.” The guards both looked confused and asked her what she is talking about—Amn had no royalty. The little girl whispered again, even less audible. Cautiously, they both moved closer to her to hear her. A dagger appeared from nowhere. The girl buried it into older guard’s heart. As he fell, a second dagger cut open his throat. He died in silence. Blood gushed from the wound and soaked into the dusty ground. The second guard was too surprised to retreat. His mind reeled as he tried to understand why a little girl would attack them. The killer looked him in the eyes as she stabbed him in his temple. She held the second dagger in front of his body and called for his soul to be released. To his horror, he felt his soul leave his body. A large ruby on the second dagger’s pommel collected his soul. Wiping the blood off her blades with their clothes, she returned them to their sheaths. She reached down to place a scrap of brown cloth in the younger guard’s hand. He grasped the cloth with his dying breath. The assassin stood and saluted the two dead militia. Unheard by their dead ears, she whispered, “The queen thanks you both for your service. Your souls will be rewarded for your sacrifice.” Adrenaline coursing through her veins as she sprinted down the dark street. Performing a series of rolls, flips and spins, she vanished into the night. 


End file.
